Her II
Nowhen
When Death dies, the world weeps—for Life no longer has balance.
Unknown
Her hands close tightly around your throat. Air depletes fast. The corners of your vision cloud, then darken. Her smile is bright and white, framed in midnight dark hair. Red eyes cut through the darkness, but her face is otherwise obscured by the hood around her head.
“They’ll never want you,” she says, her voice soft. “They’ll never accept you for who you are. You’ll always be on the outside. Always hiding. Never yourself.”
You try to swallow, but the movement is cut off by her firm grip.
“Kill—” you choke out, the words somehow possible despite the lack of air in your lungs. “—Me”
“You don’t deserve that,” she says, her gentle tone so different from the tightening hands around your throat.
Choking. Suffocating. Falling.